See how from far, upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at His blessèd feet; Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire, From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

It was the winter wild While the heav'n-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to Him Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathise: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

The Blue Poetry Book — Part 114

Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw, Confounded that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

The Blue Poetry Book — Part 114

But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace; She crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

The Blue Poetry Book — Part 114

No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high up hung, The hookèd chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood, The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng, And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord was by.

But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild oceàn, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.

The stars with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence, And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.

And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.